X-Man
by Babs Yerunkle
From the "X-Men Evolution" universe, beginning
after the end of the first season.
Chapter 40: You're new here, aren't you?
Suddenly I was out of contact. I looked around in
near-total confusion. There ahead of me, on the bed, was the nearly comatose
form of Bolivar Trask. Beside me was my 'handler', who had just pulled me
away. And the screams were coming from my own throat.
Normally, draining someone isn't so painful. Hell, I'd
sucked out Scott. That had been almost nice, finally touching him, even if it
was just for a few seconds. Even draining that psycho-punk Bo hadn't been too
bad, pain-wise. Having him in my head – that was enough to make you puke.
But this – it was like having my mind sieved through a
half-micron filter, then jammed back together like a head full of slam
dancers. Even now, it was like having double vision, double hearing, double
feeling.
Some woman jerked at my arm. "You got him? Did you do
your mind-reading thing?"
Trask? Oh, right. Yeah, he was there on the side, not
causing too much trouble. Belatedly, I nodded back to the woman.
"You've got his programming stuff? You'll be good for
the next few hours?"
I tried to focus. "Yeah, Ah believe that would be an
accurate summation." Why was I talking like that – like those. My head
hurt.
She moved forward, my collar in her hand.
I had to focus if I wanted this to work. "No way,"
I said, pointing at the collar. "You put that on me and Ah'll probably
lose him. You willing to risk it?"
Still holding my arm, she pulled me out of the bedroom.
Behind us, I noticed another one of the commandos arranging Trask's body in the
bed and tucking the covers around him, as if he was sleeping normally.
My handler hauled us up in front of the top commando. "She's
got him, Major. I'm taking her up."
"Roger that. Three – give the butler an extra dose. I
want him waking up last, but a little before the target."
We still had our breathing masks on, but one of the
commandos was moving toward the butler with a different kind of mask. It
looked like an anesthesiologist's breather, with a small gas canister
attached. If I could touch the gas, I could analyze it, and maybe synthesize
it later. I pretended to stumble (which didn't require much acting) and let
myself fall into the commando that he'd just called "Three."
"Watch it, you idiot!"
For a moment, my fingers curled around the breather, feeling
for the gas. I used that strange faculty, trying to analyze the gas the way I'd
analyzed skunk musk, so long ago with Duncan.
My mind fractured briefly at that memory, revolted as I
recalled letting Duncan – DUNCAN of all people! – touch me. Kiss me. My first
god-dammed kiss and it had been with that asshole Duncan?
Forcing myself to focus, I analyzed the gas. But… there was
something, but I couldn't quite get it. Maybe my powers didn't work for
gasses, only oils and things. Or maybe there were too many inorganics in the
gas. It was impossible to say, right here.
"What are you up to?" The major stared at me in
suspicion, then turned his glare to my handler. "Why isn't her collar
on? And get that glove back on her! You heard the briefing."
While my handler shoved the glove at me, she explained. "She
says the collar might scramble her – she'd lose the target. She's been moving
weird ever since I pulled her off of him."
The major nodded at me, suspiciously. "If you pull
anything fancy on us, they wanted me to let you know that your little bonus
package will be forfeit. You can just kiss it goodbye."
Was he talking about Kitty? I nodded understanding, then
tried to pull myself together. "You try doing something fancy while you've
got two minds crammed into your head."
"Right. Well you just sit tight and get ready for a
session in the factory."
Pulling my glove back in place, I nodded. That sounded like
good advice, if not quite in the way he'd intended it. So I let myself go
passive on the outside, while I dealt with the turmoil inside. Externally, I
barely noticed as we gathered together in the sled, or as we were later hoisted
back into the returning helicopter.
Instead, I was thinking about thought. I was watching
myself think and looking at the different ways I did it. I'm not normally real
big on philosophy and stuff, but extraordinary circumstances foster unique
responses.
The thing was, there were three of me. Two were *me*, although
one slightly more than the other, if that makes any sense. The third was
not-me. Obviously this was all related to my experiences while touching
Trask-me.
My first attempt went all wrong. I tried to figure out
which 'me' *should* be me. But all of the me's had something right about them,
some strength or skill or feel to them. I couldn't bear to just throw one
away. And if I planned to save Kitty, I couldn't afford to let go of any
advantage. But I couldn't do anything effectively when I had three different
answers for every choice.
My second attempt was just to pick one. The easiest to pick
was the different one. I concentrated on that and tried to focus with just a
single type of thinking.
.....
My mind finally came back into real focus. There was still
static and fuzz from the two girls, up high and in the back of my mind, but I
was able to ignore that with sufficient concentration. Once again, the
meditation training paid off.
It was strange to be remembering someone else's memories – particularly
those of a fifteen year old girl. Then the full import of those memories came
through.
If the older girl was to be believe, I *was* her, it was
merely memory that tricked me into believing that I was me. Fascinating
hypothesis, but I was skeptical for the moment.
The younger girl (actually both) confirmed that my presence
here was temporary – a matter of hours. I would fade away, and back in my own
body once more, where I would remember nothing.
First challenge, then: Sending a message to myself.
Item one: Security compromised – my own HOME, dammit! How
it happened and system improvements could wait for later. Also – this
remembering things that you hadn't previously known takes some getting used to
– Shaw was up to something. Defense contracts? Why Sebastian, you old
double-dipper! I guess you never figured out that Groom Lake had taken over,
did you? You would have been a lot more cautious… unless you *have* figured it
out, and are playing a deeper game.
Item two: Shaw's treachery and ambition. Have to do
something there, but what? File it, work on it later.
Item three: Shaw is a mutant. That memory slammed out of
left field. I remembered him folding up a spoon like it was tinfoil, and
resisting my touch, his skin an impermeable smoothness.
Item four: mutant havens: Shaw Industries, Xavier's School
for the Gifted. Take on the Brotherhood of Bayville, boarding house.
Oh, ho, the girls in the back of my mind don't take kindly
to the direction of *those* thoughts. Don't worry, girls, we're the good guys
here. Somehow, we will find a way to solve this mutant problem. Does it lie
in a extra organ? Could it be as simple as surgical removal? Will it require
gene therapy? Shaw's collars seem promising, but too temporary. They should
agree that this girl Rogue, at least, would be better and happier without her "advantage."
Still, the shock of seeing the alien body I'm in (I have
breasts, if you can imagine that) is enough to astound me. Imagine an entire
race descended from this girl Rogue. They could learn literally everything
their elders knew, and pass it on in perfect fidelity to the next generation.
Imagine adolescents with the combined memories, knowledge, and skills of the
finest physicists, doctors, artisans, and performers. Definitely a
post-sapiens race. The anthropologist in me boggles at the possibilities. Would
written language vanish? Almost certainly not. Such a skill would be passed
on, and on, and on through the ages. Useful enough to retain, but not useful
enough to re-invent, were it ever lost.
But enough woolgathering. Second challenge: saving that
young girl, Katherine Pryde. On the face of it, that would seem to require acquiescing
to Shaw's demands. How can I give him what he wants, and yet, not?
Challenge Three: Shaw Industries has moved from an asset to
a liability. How should their threat be neutralized? Perhaps in combination
with Challenge Two.
So, I decided to attack problem two first. On the "outside,"
the helicopter landed and we transferred into a black van. I sat almost
anonymously, surrounded by the professional thugs who had invaded my domicile,
and plotted the downfall of their employer.
*****
My plans were complete by the time we unloaded at the
plant. It would be interesting to see who was in on the betrayal. My
instructions had been clear that no one beside myself was to be allowed into
the master programmer's chamber. And although it might be my own mind in this
girl's head, from the outside, I clearly did not appear to be Bolivar Trask.
The discovery was heart-wrenching. Dr. Lang? How could you
do this to me, Stephen? Of all the people here, I thought you were the most
sympathetic.
More problematic was how this modified my plans. Stephen
could read the code nearly as well as I could. My only hope was to bury the
changes in a sea of alterations and hope that he wouldn't notice the one or two
crucial changes. Further, my idea of leaving a message to myself in text
comments was clearly no good.
"So, this is the mutie girl that can modify Trask's
software?"
I glared at him. Was that what was driving him? Not defense
of his species, but simple prejudice? I certainly didn't like being called
names, even if they were technically accurate at the moment.
"Yeah, sure," I said. It served my interests if
they didn't guess they were facing against the full skills and mind of Bolivar
Trask. I attempted to talk like a teenager. "So, uh, where's the girl?
That is, where's Kitty? I ain't doing this thing unless I got proof that Kitty
is going to be okay?"
Lang glared. "We don't have much time here. You need
to get to work as soon as possible! Even Trask would need an hour to make
these changes, and the hardware burn happens in three hours!"
"Not until I see Kitty!" I insisted.
I had a pair of the black-clad home invaders stationed
behind me. One of them was a woman, and I vaguely recalled that she had been
my 'handler' back when they broke into the penthouse. Now she took the
opportunity to shove me forward roughly. "You'll do as you're told, girl!"
Was this sort of threat effective against a weak-willed
teenager? It certainly didn't impress *me.*
"I want to know that Kitty's going to be safe."
After some argument between the staff and the black-clad
goons, they finally brought a team of guards in. Four thugs hiding behind
hockey-mask face plates, all to guard one tiny teenaged girl.
"H-hi Rogue." Her voice quavered, as if she were
trying to cover up extreme fear.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Yeah. This collar is totally irritating, you know?"
"Don't worry. They'll let us both go as soon as I'm
done." I looked for confirmation to the head of the black-clad burglars.
"Right?"
He nodded back. "Once the job's complete, we're gone."
"Then let's commence," I said. I was curious to see
how they planned to circumvent the safeguards on the chamber.
Lang stepped forward, speaking to several of his
subordinates. First, they brought out something like a large flashlight, but
with a wax hand on the end.
"Alright girl," Lang explained to me in
condescending tones, "you need to step through an airlock to enter the
chamber. It's calibrated for Trask's approximate weight. Luckily for us, you're
way under, so this equipment will only push you in the right direction. This
first item is to foil the palm scanner. Your left hand would normally go on
the palm scanner. Your right hand types the answer to a random question. You
were able to read his mind enough to pick up the questions he programmed?"
"I can answer them," I replied tersely. Lang had
obviously been planning this treachery for some time.
"Lastly, you need to wear these goggles. This will
allow you to place your head against the eyepieces to read the question, while
displaying a recording of Trask's retinal prints to the scanner."
Once they had me loaded up with the equipment, they had me
step onto a scale and added weights until I matched my normal body mass. I
seethed at the deliberate and pre-meditated betrayal by Lang and his team. To
my mental list, I added Challenge Four: repaying Dr. Stephen Lang.
*****
I almost had to come back out of the chamber. They'd
forgotten that the real Bolivar Trask was a tall man. At the moment, I was in
the body of a somewhat short girl. Fortunately, standing on tip-toe gave me
just enough height to reach the eye scanner.
Once inside I sealed the door and set down for an intensive
programming session. This was going to be a challenge worthy of anything I'd
ever done. Lang would be reviewing the batch of changes when I finally
submitted them, and signing off as "reviewed and approved." Time
pressure would keep him from looking too closely at some of the changes, and
other parts of the code were only visible from inside the chamber, so he'd see
the change, but not the context.
Hmm, the keyboard was too high. I spent a moment raising my
chair. The torso on this body was quite short.
My first trick would be to use a naming style as close to
Lang's as I could stomach. I'd always hated his style – it was too
idiosyncratic and sloppy. He never seemed to notice the style, so I assumed
that he wouldn't notice during this pressure-crunch review. But if I ever had
cause to re-examine this code, I'd notice the style immediately, which should
tip me to examine the entire check in.
Now, for comments. Innocuous elements mostly, but I would
arbitrarily use variables named from letters of the Sanskrit alphabet. Putting
the letters in order would present the following message:
check
the logs
search
for authorizing agent
discover
the integrity failure
no
choice, have to add
new
top-level user
this
fixes problem caused by line above
same
thing
this
may impact construction choices
change
triggered by...
home
security
inadequate
mutant
rogue
sorry,
no choice
borrow
skill
don't
get confused
spot
the difference between
good
and bad
guys
X
is
good
If I ever noticed it, that would tell me that Dr. Lang was a
collaborator with my enemy (since he would be listed in the logs as co-signer),
and was hence guilty of "integrity failure." Rather. Further, that
I was forced to add a new top-level user. Double-checking the biometrics would
prove that new user to be Sebastian Shaw, which would tell me a LOT. This
would be further confirmed by "this may impact construction choices."
One of the most interesting comments was, "this fixes
problem caused by line above." In this line, my masterpiece as I humbly
thought of it, I inserted a check for mutant energies and the X-gene, before a
top-level user is confirmed. Furthermore, this check would only become active
*after* the prototype testing was passed, and the code entered "final"
stage. That should be in about two weeks, if tests progressed at the rate I
expected. This would give Shaw the *appearance* that he would be a full user,
but if he tried to use the final product, he'd find himself a target, rather
than a commander.
The line below that, "same thing," restricted
downloads during the prototype stage to only cover the less sensitive
software. Routines for arm movement, simple operations, but none of the complex
artificial intelligence. And the software routines all contained fail-overs,
left over functionality from earlier development, so everything would work even
if the higher centers of the brain were gutted. But the end result would be
useless, nothing like my real robot. More than anything else, this would
prevent Shaw from starting a download, and grab my interest to see why *I*
couldn't view the AI code.
The last half of the message tried to explain how my home
had been invaded, the girl Rogue had been forced to touch me and "borrow
my skill" (although the reality was rather more complex), and tried to
explain that the people associated with the "X" were the good guys.
I'd emphasized twice that there was no choice, and even apologized. That, in
combination with the info about Lang betraying me and Shaw being an greedy, over-ambitious
mutant, ought to give the real me some sympathy toward the mystery code hacker.
That covered all three challenges I'd set myself, and even
every item with the exception of identifying the mutant havens. I appeared to
give Shaw everything he wanted, while denying him anything of value and even
setting him up for a fall.
Now all I had to do was to write enough code to justify the
comments, and fuddle Lang's ability to check the implications of my changes.
*****
With a weary sigh, I sat back. That had done it. I passed
the code through pre-test, cross-check, and then ran a quick simulation.
Everything checked out. I had actually done some clean-up and optimization
that I had intended for some time.
All tests passed. I typed one final command and pushed back
from the keyboard. Ahead of me, the screen lit up with a single question, "Submit
changes?" I thought it through one last time, then pressed the "y"
key. Now, it would all lie in Lang's lap. If he approved the changes, I was
home free.
I briefly considered exiting the chamber, but with my work
done and some time remaining, there were a few things I wanted to pursue.
There was no way that I could send a message out, letting the girl's friends
know her situation. I had, very deliberately, made sure that there was no
outside network connection to the robot's programming system. But I had the
ability to monitor the security cameras and logs in the area. Was there
anything I could learn that way?
I spent some time, studying Lang as he feverishly poured
over the changes. Shaw was monitoring from the executive overview room, above
the control floor. Shaw's companions included the telepath Frost and several
of the plastic-faced goons. There was no sign of Katharine Pryde. Kitty. My
roommate. Hard to believe that we'd been dancing, just hours ago.
I shook my head at the girl's incongruous thoughts as they
intruded on my musing. Perhaps the concentration as I had focused on
programming had helped maintain my grip on Rogue's multiple personalities. I
didn't envy her situation. At the same time, I realized that in a very real
way, that was now *my* situation. But I wouldn't slide back to being me again
until I absolutely couldn't help it. I shook my head again. It was
disconcerting, the way my thoughts swung from being ME, into being those two
girls. They were working together. Trautwein may have accepted being a girl,
but I couldn't imagine myself ever being forced into that same path. And yet,
my thoughts kept veering away, into utterly alien girl-thoughts. For example,
I was now acutely aware of my bladder. I'd been in here for nearly two hours,
and I had to pee something fierce. But they'd taken my clothes and purse, and
even though my period was over, I still felt better with a panty liner for a
few days afterward. But without my purse…
I shook my head, terrified by the sudden and complete loss
of my masculinity. I did my best not to think of the body that I was currently
inhabiting, but it was sometimes difficult. And my thoughts – metaphorically,
I was clinging to the edge of a cliff, holding on only by my fingernails, but I
was still slipping backward.
I glanced at my watch. Oh, no. That explained everything.
Sometime in the next few minutes, I was going to die. Or rather, Rogue's "drain"
of me would expire. When that happened, my mind would vanish, and for all
effective purposes the "me" that was here would be dead.
I sensed the girls go suddenly quiet in the back of my
mind. We'd never before had such a full drain, combined with such an intense
personality. We'd never before watched the "death" process, and all
of us were curious. Or rather, they were curious, and content to act as
passive spectators for the moment. As for me, I was given a minute or two to
make my final peace.
I knew full well that the real me would continue unabated,
without even the least awareness of anything that *I* had done. Well, except
for the message. It was frustrating. There was so much more that I could do.
Hell, with two of me, I'd be twice as productive. But there as no chance for
that now. No chance for so many things. No chance to discover whether I was
actually a different person, thinking in this different brain. How odd, that I
should stop to consider whether I was a unique, distinct person, actually
separate from Bolivar Trask, only seconds before I… before I…
Continued in Chapter 41, " …have been greatly exaggerated" appearing NEXT Week!
since 02/19/04
